When Lisbon woke the next morning, her head was on Jane's chest and his fingers were stroking her hair.

"Hey," she said groggily. "You been awake long?"

He shrugged a little in his reclined state. "A while."

Lisbon closed her eyes. She didn't want to get up yet. "What time is it?" His fingers were still in her hair.

He continued stroking her hair. "Early."

"I guess we should get up and start tailing Sevechenko again," Lisbon said without enthusiasm. "Try to catch him when he leaves his room. See if he meets his contact."

"I suppose," Jane said, equally reluctant. "Can we get breakfast first?"

"Is the dining room open at this hour?"

"Should be," Jane said.

"Okay." Pause. "I'm getting up now." She didn't lift her head from his chest.

"Me, too," he said, making no move to release her.

Eventually they managed to untangle themselves, dress, brush their teeth, and leave the room.

Jane shut the door behind them when they went out into the hall. He gave her a searching look. "Would I be pushing it if I asked to hold your hand on the way to breakfast?"

"Uh—" Lisbon said, disarmed. "Probably not a good idea." It came out more questioning than she'd have liked.

"Very well," Jane said, dejected but unsurprised. "Shall we?"

They walked towards the elevator, both hyperaware of each other's proximity while being careful not to touch.

When the elevator doors opened, Tim the bellboy stood in the elevator, wearing jeans and a t-shirt instead of his usual uniform. He looked surprised to see them.

"Good morning," Lisbon said politely.

"Uh—morning," the young man said nervously.

"Are you on your way up? Or down?" Jane asked.

"Up," Tim said. He glanced at Lisbon and blushed.

"Guess we'll catch the next one, then," Lisbon said.

"Sure," he said, avoiding her gaze.

Jane looked back and forth between them. "Aha." He stuck his hand out to stop the elevator door just before it closed. "On second thought, Tim, I think we'll ride with you."

"We will?" Lisbon said, startled. "What for?"

"Oh, Tim will explain on the way," Jane said confidently, ushering Lisbon into the elevator and stepping in beside her. "Won't you, Tim?"

"Um," Tim said, blushing. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Sure you are," Jane said. He said to Lisbon, "Tim here is on his way to check his footage from last night."

"His footage?" Lisbon turned to Tim in outrage. "You're the peeping tom?"

Tim grimaced. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course he's the peeping tom," Jane said. "He's the most obvious candidate, when you think about it. In fact, he's so obvious, I didn't suspect him at first. But I suppose people do sometimes play to type. So, tell us the score, Tim. You film guests without their knowledge, then come in early before your shift starts and watch your dirty little videos on one of the big screens in one of the empty rooms, is that it? Living it up like a king for a bit until it's time to go back to hauling luggage for fat cats?"

Tim shifted guiltily. "No," he said weakly.

"I hate to break it to you, Tim, but recording people without their knowledge is a criminal offense," Jane said, shaking his head. "And you must be very unlucky, because Agent Lisbon here is a cop. She's going to bust you, and I don't think you'll find it as pleasant an experience as you might have fantasized about."

"You're a cop?" Tim said, looking at Lisbon in horror.

She glared at him. "Yes." She fished her badge out of her pocket and showed it to him.

"Oh, God," Tim groaned, putting his head in his hands.

The elevator dinged, signaling their arrival on the top floor.

"Panic later, Tim," Jane advised. "Right now, you're going to show us your secret stash."

Tim protested, but reluctantly led them to the door of the hotel room at the end of the hall.

Jane raised his eyebrows. "Ah, the penthouse. Nice. Guess it beats your mother's basement, huh? Now come on, show us the goods."

Tim took out a key card and opened the door, resigned to his fate.

They went into the suite, Jane surveying the place as though considering a real estate purchase. "Lovely view," he observed. "Bespoke furniture and $10,000 art on the wall—very impressive."

Lisbon wasn't interested in the furnishings. "Show us the videos," she said to Tim brusquely.

Tim reluctantly turned on the big screen TV and brought up the footage. He pressed play.

Lisbon was unprepared to see a visual of herself in the hotel room on Friday night before they'd broken the camera, kissing Jane like her life depended on it. She turned bright red. "We don't want to see this!" she said to Tim, exasperated.

"Speak for yourself," Jane said, studying the screen with great interest.

"What do you want to see, if not this?" Tim said, confused.

"Do you know a man named Fedir Sevechenko?" Jane asked him.

"That rich Russian guy?"

"That's the one," Jane confirmed.

"You were waiting on him at the pool yesterday," Lisbon said. "A little outside your job description. Do you have a relationship with him?"

"A relationship?" Tim said blankly. "He always has hot women around him. I just wanted to—"

"Ogle them from up close and personal for a change," Jane finished.

Tim shrugged uncomfortably. "There's no harm in just looking."

"Actually, there is," Jane said. "But we'll save that for the lawyers to worry about. At the moment, we're more interested in Sevechenko."

"I don't know anything about him!" Tim protested.

"Bring up anything you've got on him," Lisbon ordered.

Tim quailed at the look on her face. "Yes, ma'am."

Please, Lisbon thought with dread as Tim pulled up footage of the hallway outside Sevechenko's room and fast-forwarded through it. Let his contact not be Michaela. Or Isaac, for that matter.

"There," Jane said, pointing to the screen. "Pause it."

The image froze, and Lisbon blinked at the sight of the person standing outside Sevechenko's room, speaking to him angrily. "Huh," she said. "I wouldn't have guessed…"

"Me, neither," Jane said ruefully. "Of course, I have been pretty distracted this weekend."

"Hush," Lisbon said. She looked at Tim. "Keep going."

Half an hour later, Lisbon sat back on the bed, satisfied. Tim had collected enough footage not only to identify Sevechenko's contact within the hotel, but also enough to paint a detailed picture of his criminal dealings behind closed doors that Lisbon was certain a jury would find compelling. The hours of footage had also caught dozens of clients in compromising positions. Clients who would no doubt be willing to flip on Sevechenko in exchange for keeping their names out of the papers when the young women were released from the hold Sevechenko had over them.

"Seen enough?" Jane asked her.

"Yeah," Lisbon said. "Let's go get Sevechenko."

Tim perked up. "Does that mean I'm not under arrest? Because I cooperated and helped you find evidence on this guy?"

"Oh, you're definitely under arrest," Lisbon said with conviction. "My team will come to collect you shortly and escort you downtown."

"You're just going to leave me here?"

"We've got bigger fish to fry," Jane said. "Now, hand over that footage, and we'll be on our way."

Tim looked stubborn. "What's to prevent me from running away?"

"Give me your ID," Jane said.

Tim reluctantly handed Jane his license.

"1932 Westbrook Way," Jane read aloud. "Would you rather that we pick you up and arrest you at your mom's house, or would you rather wait here patiently in the penthouse for the CBI to arrest you here?"

"I wouldn't run away to my mom's house," Tim protested. "I have friends, you know."

"Got any friends your mom doesn't know personally?" Jane asked. "That she couldn't help us identify and track down?"

Silence. "Yeah, all right," Tim grumbled. "I'll stay here."

"Good," Jane said, handing him back his license. "Hang on to that. They'll need it when they book you."

xxx

They left Tim stewing and headed downstairs, where the latest footage had helpfully informed them that Sevechenko was getting breakfast in the main dining room at this very moment.

Lisbon dialed Cho's number and gave him instructions to send Rigsby to pick up Tim and for Cho and Van Pelt to stand by to serve as back up when they arrested Sevechenko and his contact.

They found Sevechenko dining next to a window looking out over the Bay.

"Mr. Sevechenko," Lisbon began as they approached. "My name is—"

Sevechenko looked up and gave her a slow smile. "Oh, it's you. I remember you. What's the matter? Did you get tired of your pretty man? Want to expand your horizons?" He jerked his thumb at Jane and smirked.

"No," Lisbon said. "My name is Teresa Lisbon, and I'm—"

"You!" An outraged voice interrupted from behind her. Lisbon turned and was surprised to see Michaela storming towards them.

"Michaela?" Lisbon said, taken aback.

"Teresa, I thought you said you didn't know this guy," Michaela said, jerking her head towards Sevechenko.

"I don't, exactly," Lisbon said. "I—"

"Good," Michaela said, glaring at Sevechenko. "Because you should steer clear of him. He's a creep of the highest order."

"Oh, we know," Jane said. "His creepiness is why we're here, actually."

"Me, too," Michaela said, staring at Sevechenko with ice in her eyes. "You didn't let me finish last night, Mr. Sevechenko. You insulted my fiancée. I'm here to tell you that I don't appreciate the fetishization of lesbian sexuality and I won't tolerate you treating my fiancée and me as though our purpose in life is to populate your sexual fantasies. I'm going to—"

Darla Runyon, the event planner, hurried up to them, looking flustered. "Is there a problem here? Your morning session is scheduled to start in less than an hour. I really think you'd all better sit down and—"

Another voice interrupted. "Ah, Mr. Sevechenko," Rutherford greeted them, coming up behind Michaela. "I need a word."

"Mr. Rutherford," Darla said. "I assure you, there's no issue here. I have everything under control."

Rutherford brushed her off. "Not now, Darla. I have something to say to Mr. Sevechenko and I'm afraid it can't wait."

Michaela rounded on him. "Are you the manager here? Because I have a complaint."

"Yes, I am," Rutherford said. "One moment, ma'am, I need to speak to Mr. Sevechenko about something."

"Mr. Rutherford," Lisbon began, but he overrode her.

"Just a minute." Rutherford said. "Mr. Sevechenko, I'm here to ask you to leave the hotel."

"You are?" Michaela said. "Good." She paused. "Why?"

"Because of his creepiness," Jane informed her.

"I'm not leaving the hotel," Sevechenko said, taking a bite of his eggs. "I bring big business to this place."

Rutherford drew himself up. "I don't care what the senior management says. I'm tired of you harassing the female staff. And I don't care what you say, I don't believe all those young women you parade through the hotel are of age, and I will be reporting you to the authorities."

Jane clapped Rutherford on the shoulder. "Good man, Rutherford. You tell him."

Sevechenko put down his knife and fork and got to his feet. "You can't do that," he said, furious. "You think your bosses will thank you for this? One phone call and you're out on the street and I go back to my room with a bottle of complimentary champagne."

"Mr. Sevechenko, you won't be drinking any champagne for a while," Lisbon told him. "You're under—"

"Hey, you." This time it was Isaac who interrupted, glowering at Sevechenko. "We didn't finish our conversation last night."

"What is it now?" Sevechenko said, annoyed. "Oh, it is the man with the dumpy little wife. Go away, I'm—"

Isaac, his face an iron mask, punched Sevechenko in the jaw, knocking him flat. "I should have done that last night. That's what you get for insulting my wife, do you hear me?"

"You shouldn't have crossed Isaac," Jane said to Sevechenko, still on the floor. "Those brooding poets—you never know what they have in store."

Shelly hurried up to them, a bit breathless. "Isaac, what have you done?! I told you last night, he isn't worth it—oh, my God. Did you hit him?"

"He was defending your honor," Jane said. "You should have seen it. Took him down with one blow. Very efficient man, your husband."

Shelly looked up at Isaac, her eyes shining. "You did that for me?"

"He deserved it," Isaac said gruffly, and put his arm around her.

Shelly beamed up at him.

"Nice shot," Michaela commented to Isaac. "Couldn't have done it better myself."

Lisbon signaled to Cho and Van Pelt, who had just appeared in the doorway to the dining room, then bent down to address Sevechenko. "As I was saying, Mr. Sevechenko—you're under arrest."

Darla Runyon, eyes wide, started to back away.

"Not so fast, Darla," Jane said. "You're under arrest, too."

"Under arrest?" Michaela said. She looked back and forth between Jane and Lisbon. "Are you guys cops?"

"Teresa is," Jane told her. "I'm just a lowly consultant."

"What are they under arrest for?" Shelly asked, her eyes wide.

"Running a sex trafficking ring out of this hotel," Lisbon said, catching the cuffs Cho tossed her as he approached and bending back down to click them closed over Sevechenko's wrists. She straightened, hauling Sevechenko to his feet. "Ms. Runyon here has been helping this man bring women into the country for the purpose of extorting sexual favors for rich clients. She's been supplying him with fake IDs and connecting him to wealthy men who pass through the hotel on a routine basis."

Michaela looked at Darla in horror. "How could you do something like that to other women?"

"She's in it for the money, of course," Jane told her. "What are other people's lives when there's one's personal comfort to consider?"

Shelly glared at Darla. "That's despicable. I hope you rot in jail." She glared at Sevechenko in turn. "Both of you."

"I think we can guarantee that," Van Pelt said, cuffing Darla and leading her away. "Ms. Runyon, you have the right to remain silent…"

Lisbon turned Sevechenko over to Cho, who read him his Miranda rights in a flat tone as he led him towards the exit.

Jane stopped a passing waiter and gestured to Sevechenko's abandoned table. "Excuse me, but can you clear this place away and send us two orders of the special he was having? Those eggs look delicious."